


hold your child as tight as you can (and push away the unimaginable)

by the9muses



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AOS Angst War 2020, AWVLP-Angst with very little plot, Angst, Child Death, F/M, Sorry Not Sorry Kat, sorry I went on a little murder spree with this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the9muses/pseuds/the9muses
Summary: Jemma normally answers her phone.The one time she doesn't, the world comes crashing down around her.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 32
Kudos: 31
Collections: Angst War 2020





	hold your child as tight as you can (and push away the unimaginable)

**Author's Note:**

> This is angst solely for the purpose of being angst. There's no reason for it other than angst.

Every Friday, Jemma drives to the Perthshire library and checks out as many books as is the limit. Fitz and Alya send her along with a list of books they know that they want, and she grabs those and quite a few others. It’s one of her favourite rituals of the week, a break from the chaos. Sometimes Fitz or Alya come with her, but most of the time she goes by herself.

It’s on one of these trips when she gets a call, from a number she doesn’t recognize. Normally she would answer it, but right now she’s in the library, and she doesn’t recognize the number. Why would she answer it? 

She checks out the books, greeting all the librarians by name, apologizing for the ridiculous amount of books that she’s got, and sharing a laugh with them. One of them helps her carry the ridiculously tall pile out to her car and load them into the boot. She climbs into the car and waves goodbye before starting the drive back home

As she pulls out of the parking lot, she gets another call. She doesn’t answer it. Why would she? She’s driving, it wouldn’t be safe. And besides, she doesn’t recognize the number. 

When she gets home, there’s a note on the coffee table from Fitz, saying that he and Alya went out to buy milk and they’ll be back in half an hour. Jemma grins and gets the stack of books that she got for Alya out of the car, scattering them artfully about the house, everywhere Alya spends time, and everywhere Alya is likely to go. Once she finishes that, she sets herself down on the sofa and grabs a book, cracking it open and immersing herself in it.

A few pages into the book, she gets another call. She almost declines it, but then she realizes it’s from Mack.

“Mack! I didn’t realize you would be calling!” 

“Simmons. Do you have me down as one of your emergency contacts?” Mack asks quietly.

“Oh right, I forgot we did that! Would you like me to change it?” 

There was silence on the other end.

“Is there something wrong, Mack?” 

“Simmons…” Mack begins, but then he stops. His voice is heavy and tired and Jemma’s heart is beginning to race a little faster. 

“What’s happening?” 

“I just got a call from the Perth Royal Infirmary. They said that they’d called you twice but you hadn’t responded, so they—” 

“What?” Jemma gasps, already jumping up to grab her car keys.

“Simmons, I—“ 

“I’m sorry, Mack, I’ve got to go,” she says in a rush, before hanging up and rushing out to the car. She starts it as fast as she possibly can, every inch of her body tense as she pulls out of the driveway.

It can’t be anything that bad, right?

After everything that’s happened, it can’t be _that_ bad, certainly not. 

She keeps telling herself that, refusing to let her mind wander away into the dangerous territory of imagination and what-ifs. She’s gone there too many times in the past. Now isn’t the time, not when she’s driving and there are other cars. 

When she finally reaches the hospital, she rushes inside to the front desk.

“Hullo I’m Jemma Simmons I got a call or two calls actually but I didn’t pick up and my husband and daughter might be here do you know where they might be?” she babbles, and the lady behind the desk stares at her in concern. 

“Say that again, please?” 

“My name is Jemma Simmons. I think my husband and daughter are here,” she says, and the woman goes to her computer and clicks a few things.

“And your husband would be Leopold Fitz?” she asks. Jemma nods. 

“Yes, and my daughter is Alya Fitz.” 

The woman looks away from the computer with a look of sympathy etched on her face.

Jemma’s heart stops.

“I’m going to have you talk to Dr. Page. She’s the one who’s got all the information.” 

“Alright,” Jemma murmurs, her mind racing. This isn’t good, this can’t be good, something’s wrong, som— 

“Jemma Simmons?” She turns around to find a woman in a white coat, with a look on her face that’s tricky to decipher. 

“Yes. Are you Dr. Page? Because I—”

“Yes, I’m Dr. Page. How about you come with me, Jemma,” she says.

Jemma shakes her head.

“I’m not going anywhere with anyone until someone tells me where my family is,” she declares, clenching her fists and biting her lip and honestly what she’s really doing is trying not to cry but she can’t let them know that, because then they might not tell her where Alya and Fitz are, but maybe they’ll tell her more if she cries, and then she’s seriously pondering breaking into tears so that they’ll tell her, and and and and

“Jemma. Just come with me, alright, love? All we’re doing is moving to another room, and then I’ll tell you everything.

” Dr. Page is talking to her like she’s a child, and it simultaneously makes Jemma want to stay where she is and to follow her. 

But the promise of knowing is enough for Jemma, so she follows her. 

Dr. Page takes her to a small office, consisting only of a desk and two chairs. One in front of the desk, one behind it. 

There’s a box of tissues on the far edge of the desk, with only a few left.

Jemma sits down in the chair sitting in front of the desk as the doctor settles into the one behind it, and leans forward urgently, panic written across her face.

“Tell me. Please tell me.” 

Dr. Page sighs, a sigh so full of pity that Jemma knows immediately.

She knows, but she doesn’t believe it. Why would she? She’s got no evidence, after all, just a sigh that could mean anything.

“Jemma, your husband and daughter were walking on the side of the road when a car came around the bend and hit them. Your husband died on impact. The man who hit them called us, and we did everything we could. It was too late, though. There was nothing we could do for him. And… and Jemma, your daughter… she was brought here. We tried our best but… she died about fifteen minutes ago.

Jemma stares at Dr. Page, uncomprehending. 

“I under—”

“You’re lying,” Jemma states as if the fact is obvious. 

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but I—” 

“You’re _lying_ ,” Jemma says stubbornly, “or you’ve got the wrong person.”

“Jemma. I can show you the medical certificate of death for both of them. I’m deeply sorry for your loss, and I’m not lying.”

“Then show it to me.” 

Jemma can see Dr. Page swallow, and then she pulls open her desk drawer and brings two filled out forms that Jemma’s seen before.

Forms that Jemma has filled out before.

She grabs the paper from Dr. Page and scans through it, each word she reads hitting her like a punch to the stomach. She can’t stop reading though, can’t stop reading these words that are forming sentences that are telling her that her daughter is dead and her hands are holding onto the paper so tightly that it almost rips and there might be tears falling down her face and she just wants Fitz. She wants Fitz to hug her and tell her it’ll be alright. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Dr. Page asks softly. Jemma shakes her head, still staring at the paper. Daisy springs to mind suddenly, and now all Jemma wants to do is talk to her.

“I—I’ve got to—to call—to call Daisy,” she stammers, letting go of the papers. They slowly drift down to the floor as Jemma moves her shaking hands down to her purse and fishes out her phone, finding Daisy’s number and pressing the phone icon next to it. 

“Simmons! What’s up? I haven’t heard from you in a while! How’s Alya?” 

“Daisy,” Jemma sobs, tears coming faster and faster.

“What’s wrong?” Daisy asks, a fierce worry edging her voice.

“Alya—Alya and...and Fitz. And I had the books and they went for milk but then there was a car and— Daisy they’re saying that they’re dead and… and I—I—” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Daisy. “Jemma. Are you… are you serious?” 

“I—I—Daisy, I can’t—” Jemma gets out before she can’t talk anymore.

“Oh shit, Jemma, oh my god. You—” Daisy’s voice turns to static briefly, and Jemma is reminded of why they use phones to chat so rarely. “— you can make an LMD, right? Of Fitz and Alya. So you don’t have to lose—”

“No,” Jemma interrupts, and she’s surprised by the harshness to her tone, “I don’t want— I want Fitz, Daisy, I want Fitz!”

“Jemma, I—” Daisy’s voice fades into static again, and then back out. “—okay? I can—” The static continues and Jemma clutches the phone in her hand, praying for the signal to start working again. “ —wait. Daniel, are you serious? Okay. I’m so sorry Jems, an—” 

There’s static again, and Jemma grips onto the phone, praying for it to come back.

It doesn’t.

After a minute or so, Jemma lays the phone down on the table and looks back to Dr. Page. Her eyes are wet, mirroring Jemma’s, but she clears her throat and nods.

“Alright, Jemma, there are a couple of things we need to work out. The first thing I want to say is that if you want to talk to anyone, I have some excellent therapists that I highly recommend. Additionally—” Jemma cuts her off by standing up, her chair making an awful screeching noise.

“I can’t do this, I’m sorry,” she blurts, and dashes out of the room, through the lobby and out to her car, pulling open the door and climbing in. 

It’s quiet inside the car.

So peaceful.

So wrong. 

It’s impossible for her to comprehend it all. Just an hour ago she had been picking up books, laughing and talking with the librarians and excited for the weekend.

But now here she is, in the car, crying for her dead daughter and her dead husband. For all the birthdays they’ll never celebrate and the moments they’ll never live. For the life that Alya won’t get to live any more of and the days that Fitz will never see.

After all that they’ve been through. It was a car, a _car_ , and a bad driver and the wrong place at the wrong time and they’re _dead_ and it isn’t _fair._

It’s like Jemma is being stabbed in the heart, over and over and over and over, and suddenly all she wants to do is scream.

So she does, breaking the quiet stillness in the car.

She screams and screams and screams until her throat is hoarse. 

They’re gone.

Fitz and Alya are gone.

She hates the world, the universe, fate.

She hates all of it.

She hates that the world will certainly move on, keep turning and turning.

So she screams until she can’t anymore. 

When she’s done, she rests her head on the steering wheel and sobs. 

She is alone, in the quiet, head underwater.

Drowning. 


End file.
